


'Til All Are One

by FalseProphet (Batmanthegroomer)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers, Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Cybertron Realized, Transformers: More than Meets the Eye
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batmanthegroomer/pseuds/FalseProphet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodimus gets a stern glossa lashing from Ratchet and Magnus thinks inappropriate things when he should be on the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Til All Are One

**Author's Note:**

> Time Period: Post War, months after the launch of the Lost Light.

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. His bulk rested against an empty slab in the med-ward of the Lost Light. Before him stood Ratchet and Rodimus, arguing as was becoming increasingly more normal. Magnus had to admit that he was often on Ratchet’s side but this time he found himself wishing the medic would just drop it. Rodimus was not one to walk away without getting the last word and until Ratchet caved in no-one was going anywhere. Behind Magnus stood a large chunk of the higher ranked Cybertronians on board the Lost Light all of them pretending to ignore the argument. All of them but one… Drift. He was standing at Magnus’ shoulder and any second now the SIC of Lost Light had a feeling he was going to have to hold the swordsbot back from jumping into the fray.

Ratchet jabbed a finger into Rodimus’ chest plate and earned a rather surprised look from the young commander. Magnus had tuned them out a few moments ago and he was not keen to fire back up his audios but he was a little curious. It seemed Ratchet had hit a nerve. Rodimus stepped off the slab he’d been sitting on to return the jab with fire in his optics and heat in his face. Ratchet shouted back a response, gesturing to the crew and Magnus tilted his helm to one side.

Reckless.

He heard that at least. He sighed again and stood up, rubbing at the temples of his helm. Rodimus was certainly that but there was something under the surface of reckless and Magnus was beginning to suspect nobody looked that far. Or at least, they didn’t want to. They were all attracted to the energy Rodimus put out, his strange optimism even in the face of his mood swings. It was contagious. Rodimus was always the first to pump a fist in the air, to shout a battle cry, to deem insurmountable odds attainable. Everyone wanted to follow that and when that lead to reckless decisions that’s all the deeper they wanted to look. Rodimus was young and he wanted to take risks. But the SIC was starting to see a pattern, little things like flinches in Rodimus’ face, changes in his tone, odd body language. There was something deeper that nobody had stumbled on yet.

Maybe he would ask Rung. Not that Rung would tell him.

He powered down his optics a second and lit them back up slowly. Rodimus had his hands crossed so tightly over his chestplate that Magnus imagined hearing the strain on his joints. The Cybertronian was practically vibrating in anger. Ratchet was lecturing and—at least to Magnus’ optic—Rodimus seemed to be humoring the old medic a good long-winded speech.

Without much call for it Magnus’ optics drifted downwards over the body of his commander. The armor over the lower portion of Rodimus’ torso was fascinating. It was becoming a rising trend in his generation, the Cybertronian form adapting further to a life of war. It was soft and pliable, easy to move and bend to give flexibility but at the same time it was tough, hard to pierce and highly heat resistant. The way it curled and moved with each of Rodimus’ cooling breaths, his moves and gestures, it was quite tantalizing. The word rather surprised Magnus but he supposed it was accurate. Tantalizing.

He wondered what that armor might feel like if squeezed… just a little more than friendly. How would it feel turning under his hands? Rodimus’ body was so long and slender, sleek, Magnus could almost see it arched backwards. His hands could fill the curve of Rodimus’ back if—for some strange reason—the commander found himself in Magnus’ lap. That way Magnus would get a good look at those small, interlocking pieces that…

Magnus turned his helm quickly only to find Drift’s faceplate a few inches from his own. He tried to hold in a surprised noise and sneered.

“/What/, Drift?” Magnus did not enjoy the look on Drift’s face. The white mech leaned in and poked Magnus in the chestplate.

“You /smiled/.” Drift said. He glanced in the direction Magnus had been looking and then back to the SIC. “You smiled.” He repeated. Magnus waved away his hand.

“You were seeing things.”

“Nuh uh, no way. You were watching Ratchet give Rodimus a good glossa lashing and. You. /Smiled/.”

Drift’s lips curved upward in a delicious smirk. Magnus did not like this any more than the surprised and suspicious look from before. Drift opened his mouth to speak further when the whine of a gun low on Magnus’ hip array stopped him. The white mech looked down to see Magnus’ hand on the weapon. He looked back up to Magnus.

“You must have been mistaken.”

“Humph. Must have.” Drift moaned, throwing his hands in the air before crossing them over his chest.

When Magnus turned back to the argument he stood straight upright. Rodimus was storming away.

“—want to hear anymore about it!”

“Well you’re gonna hear about it!” Ratchet called after him, following Rodimus to the door. “Until I think it’s finally gotten through those audios to your processor! Ugh! How dare you!” Ratchet hissed out into the hall at the rude gesture Rodimus had apparently given him. The medic hit the button to close the door so hard it sizzled at him.

Magnus shook his helm and moved to leave the med-ward as Drift turned to tell the others it they were dismissed. As Magnus reached up for the door Ratchet grabbed his arm.

“Would you please… talk some /sense/ into that child?”

“What makes you think he will be any more likely to listen to me?” Magnus asked sincerely, looking down at Ratchet.

“The way he looks at you. I see hints of that same admiration he had for Optimus Prime once. He’ll listen to you even if he doesn’t immediately act on it.”

“If you heard the things he has said to me while we are alone, you might not think that way. I am certainly no Optimus in his optics.” Magnus said as he looked down the hall after the commander. He heard Ratchet sigh and he looked back to the medic.

“Maybe not but… be careful, Ultra Magnus. I’ve seen the way you look at him too.” Ratchet shook his helm and patted Magnus on the arm. “Just don’t do anything reckless. I think we owe him credits each time somebody but him gets to use that word.”

Magnus fretted. He wanted to launch after Ratchet to demand what he was talking about. The way he looks at Rodimus? What was the medic hinting at! But… he couldn’t deny he had been, well, /looking/ at Rodimus just moments earlier. He just prayed Ratchet was the only one to notice. He would have to be more careful in the future.

He left the med-ward and immediately moved towards Rodimus’ quarters. He rolled his large pauldrens as he stopped outside the door. He took in a few breaths to steel himself for Rodimus’ questions. The boy always had… tough questions. Questions Magnus was certain would catch even Rung off-guard. He entered his passcode into the door and it swooped open. He didn’t bother asking for permission to come inside. He could see Rodimus’ outline against the large window in his room. The commander was seated on the window sill, one leg curled up, looking out into space like a scolded child.

“Rodimus—”

“I’ll listen to whatever you say, Magnus, I’m too tired to argue any more. But I swear to Primus if you say ‘careless’, ‘reckless’ or ‘thoughtless’… I’ll shove you through the damned window.” Rodimus turned to look at his SIC, his blue eyes flashing angrily in the dark.

“Consider the words erased temporarily from my vocabulary.”


End file.
